Daggerspell - Katharine Kerr [39]
“Nothing like a bitch to bring a dog to heel,” Adoryc remarked. “Bring him round to the fire. I want to look at this cub of mine.”
The guards marched Galrion round the tent and over to the bigger campfire, where the King took up his stance, feet spread apart, hands on hips. When someone brought Brangwen a cloak, she wrapped it round her and stared hopelessly at Galrion. Gerraent laid a heavy hand on her shoulder and drew her close.
“So, you little whelp,” Adoryc said. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Naught, Father. I’ll only ask you for a single boon.”
“What makes you think you have the right to ask for any?” Adoryc drew his own dagger and began to fiddle with it as he talked.
“No right at all, but I’m asking for my lady’s sake. Send her away out of sight before you kill me.”
“Fair enough. Granted.”
Brangwen screamed, shoved Gerraent so hard that he stumbled, and ran forward to throw herself at the King’s feet.
“Please, please,” Brangwen went on. “For the sake of his mother, I beg you. If you must have blood, take mine.”
Brangwen clutched the hem of the King’s shirt and turned her throat up to him. She was so beautiful, with her hair streaming down her shoulders, with tears running down her perfect face, that even the King’s riders sighed aloud in pity for her.
“Ah, ye gods,” Adoryc said. “Do you love this lout as much as that?”
“I do. I’d go with him anywhere, even to the Otherlands.”
Adoryc glanced at the dagger, then sheathed it with a sigh.
“Gerraent!” the King bellowed.
Gerraent came forward, took Brangwen by the shoulders, and tried to lead her away, but she shook him off. Galrion was so sick he could barely stand. He was unworthy of her, or so he saw it, and this second failure shattered him.
“Well, by the hells,” Adoryc said mildly. “If I can’t slit your throat, Galrion, how am I going to solve this little matter?”
“You could let me and my lady go into exile. It would spare us all much trouble.”
“You little bastard!” Adoryc stepped forward and slapped him across the face. “How dare you!”
Galrion staggered from the force of the blow, but he held his ground.
“Do you want me to tell everyone else what this quarrel between us is all about? Do you, Father? I will.”
Adoryc went as still as a hunted animal.
“Or shall I just accept exile?” Galrion went on. “And no man need know the cause of it”
“You bastard.” Adoryc whispered so low that Galrion could barely hear him. “Or truly, not a bastard, because of all my sons, you’re the one most like me.” Then he raised his voice. “The cause need not be known, but we hereby do pronounce our son, Galrion, as stripped of all his rank and honor, as turned out of our presence and our demesne, forever and beyond forever. We forbid him our lands, we forbid him the shelter of those sworn to us as loyal vassals, all on pain of death.” He paused to laugh under his breath. “And we hereby strip him of the name we gave him at his miserable Birth. We proclaim his new name as Nevyn. Do you hear me, lad? Nevyn—no one—nobody at all—that’s your new name.”
“Done! I’ll bear it proudly.”
Brangwen shook herself free of Gerraent’s arm. She smiled as proudly as the princess she might have been as she started over to her banished man. Galrion held out his hand to her.
“Hold!” Gerraent forced himself between them. “My liege, my King, what is this? Am I to marry my only sister to an exile?”
“She’s my betrothed already,” Galrion snapped. “Your father pledged her, not you.”
“Hold your tongue, Nevyn!” Adoryc slapped him across the face. “My lord Gerraent, you have our leave to speak.”
“My liege.” As he knelt before the King, Gerraent was shaking. “Truly, my father pledged her, and as his son, all I can do is honor the pledge. But my father betrothed her to a good life, one of comfort and honor. He loved his daughter. What will she have now?”
As Adoryc considered, Galrion felt the dweomer-warning like ice, shuddering down his back. He stepped forward.
“Father!”
“Never call me that again.” Adoryc motioned